Celebrity Mince Machine

Behold the beautiful English jazz singer Amy Winehouse; she of the hazel eyes, full lips, tousled-because-she-just-had-a-wild-romp-in-bed-with-a-man hair and perfectly, fantastically-shaped eyebrows. People-- this girl can wail. Her voice is sexy, deep, and it's got a sound behind it that's soulful and worldly. Perfection!


But look what happens when a woman gets ground up in the celebrity mince machine:





Sweetie, what the hell happened? What is that thing on your head? Where did your tooth go? Why do you have that mildly horrified, yet simultaneously crazed and amused look on your face?


Please correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't dental work free in England? I'm pretty sure it is. Honestly, Amy... go get a tooth put in.


Looking around on the web at pictures of Amy, I see that she's also succumbed to the self-inflicted starvation that seems to follow on the heels of celebrity status. Apparently she used to be a size 14 (she looked stunning) and she has recently starved herself to a size 3 or less. Amy shared with the press that she does a strenuous workout 6 days a week, then walks the 25 minutes home afterward, not to mention the 25 minutes' walk to the gym. Exercise into oblivion.


That thing on her head. I squint at the pictures and try to figure out how it's attached, where it starts and ends. It's all swirled and curled and very elaborately worked into her own hair (and not in a good way). Amy's secretive hair reminds me of this guy's:





Combed back to front? Front to back? Where is his hairline? When Donald comes out of the shower, is his wet hair hanging down past his shoulders? There's just so much length and it's like Amy's; all sprayed and brushed and fluffed.


Here's a picture of Lindsay Lohan gettin' her Anne-Margaret on:




Wow.


Later, Lindsay after the celeb mince machine gobbled her up:




No! Who told her she should be a brassy blonde? Where are her boobs?

Did Lindsay's boobs and Amy's tooth go get a place together?

More of the mince machine's handiwork:




Clearly she's as stupid as a sack of hammers and can't take care of herself.

What's mysterious is these people who crave attention finally get the adulation they've been seeking, then they come unhinged. What is that?

The Amazing Weasel Boy

Once a week, for the last three weeks, I've emailed my former Lust Object (now known as "Weasel Boy") asking him to return the Ken Burns' Civil War tapes which he borrowed. He responded to the first email, "Thanks for reminding me. I'll get them to you." The second email didn't generate a response. The third email prompted this: "They're in my car. I'll get them to you."

Today I came home from work and on my voicemail was a message from Weasel Boy saying, "I'd like to drop off those tapes tonight. Give me a call and let me know if you'll be home after six." So I called and told him I would be here. He said, "Okay. I'll be there after six and drop off those tapes." He actually used an emphasis on those words when he spoke them. Gosh-- is he trying to let me know that he'll be dropping off the tapes and that he won't be staying for a visit?

Okay, okay-- I get it. Jesus Christ, Weasel Boy.

So, I've gotten into the spirit of all the dropping off that's going on around here today. I want to make sure he understands that I understand he doesn't want to see me, nor do I want to see him (because I'm not convinced he realizes this). I shall leave a note on the front door that says, "Weasel Boy, please leave the tapes in the stairwell and shut the door when you leave. Thank you."

Just another "getting-the-upper-hand-and-trying-to-outsmart-the-other-person-and-show-this-guy-that-I'm-a-okay-without-him" joust.

I hate participating in this kind of crap. I wish I didn't care about him, but he doesn't need to know I do.

And truthfully? I really don't want to see him.

Forgive Them Father, For They Are Child-Molesting Freaks

After announcing the $660 million settlement reached between the Catholic Diocese of Los Angeles and the victims of child abuse at the hands of some bad-apple priests, the Plaintiffs' attorneys held a brief press conference. After a statement in behalf of the victims, Plaintiffs' attorney mentioned that the church representative would not be joining the press conference to make a statement regarding the settlement, as was previously planned.

Of course they didn't show! All the church officials and their little minions had to go into a tight little huddle and figure out-- in hushed, scholarly tones-- what the fuck they're going to say to everyone!

I'm happy that the victims have received some kind of recompense for whatever horrors they've lived through, however, I do wish the victims would have refused settlement and taken those assholes to trial. Obviously, I am not privy to the inner working of this case, but I do believe if it had gone to trial, there's a distinct possibility that the Catholic Church would not have recovered.



The powerful, secretive Catholic church chose to keep those priests under its protection by allowing them to stay put in their current parishes, continue counseling the parishoners, continue to ask for money on Sundays, all while intoning the word of God. These priests, under the church's protection and then therefore with its permission, continued to get whatever it was they wanted from those kids.


Now that the church's secrets have been held up in plain view for everyone to see, they are still trying to strategize and posture and justify. Truth is, church officials should be afraid because they have handled this in a clumsy, bad manner from the beginning. Just now, the church is beginning to realize we (the general public) see their ineptitude. Why else would the church representative be a no-show for a press conference following the settlement?

From the Archbishop of Los Angeles down to the lowliest priest in that Diocese, they are all a bunch of cowards. The priests molested defenseless little kids and the church covered it up because they were scared of the repercussions. The church made minimal effort to remove these maniacs from their service; rather, the church made the weasly, underhanded choice and simply shuffled the perverts, hoping no one would be the wiser (moving a child molester to a new town does not make him stop molesting children; it just provides him with a fresh batch of kids from which to pick and choose). I doubt the church will hold an honest, open discussion with their members about these recent events, because they are busy trying to cover their asses. They'll never implement or share with the members of their church a plan to ensure that this will not happen again, because it's too hard to change things that aren't working properly. In short, fear, subterfuge and greed will keep the church from doing the right thing, which would be acting like empathetic human beings. Tell me: where the hell is that priest who stands up and shrieks, "We are doing this all wrong! We are hurting people! We have to stop this right now!"?

Oh. I forgot. That kind of stuff only happens in the movies.

You can bet your britches that if suddenly it was discovered that a pack of elementary school teachers in Los Angeles were molesting hundreds of their students, we would be horrified and demand that the root of the problem be found pronto. We would say that there is something in the system that has allowed this behavior to flourish, and because of that, the system must change. Then the changes (good, bad, or indifferent, but the key word here is change) would be put into motion. With this analogy in mind, it's easy to recognize how the church must react, but I sincerely doubt they will.

Reality Taps Me on the Shoulder and Says, "Hey. Over Here."

I've changed.

I've reached the limit with My Lust Object. He is no longer an issue. For this I am truly thankful and kind of amazed.

Before, in thinking of My Lust Object, my thoughts were muddy. I was unable to remove myself from the situation and think clearly, the way I should have been thinking about him all along. Inobjectivity pushed me to act in ridiculous ways. I had no pride, I had no boundaries. I rushed forward to get a drink from the mirage that lay ahead. What I thought was water was dust.

The thought entered my mind: "Am I behaving this way because I think I will be rewarded with him one day, or am I behaving like this because I am trying to convince myself I haven't wasted my time and effort on him?"

I didn't like the answer, but I accepted it.

BANKRUPT!!! The Musical

Both my mind and my time have been thoroughly occupied these last four weeks with my impending bankruptcy.

I'm representing myself in this bankruptcy, called pro se in legal parlance. In my former life as a legal assistant, I remember the extreme annoyance I'd feel getting a document back from the attorney with yet another revision-- the 50th in a series of revisions to that same bit of information. Now I understand why the same snippet was revised over and over and over again-- because the client (in this case, me) keeps changing their (my) damn mind and keeps supplying the attorney (me) with new, previously forgotten information (because I'm a ditz).

***Curtain up***

(Open scene in filthy apartment. Large clots of cat hair drift across floor. Moldy dishes in sink. Chain-smoking, tense client (T-Bone) hunched over broken computer, attempting to finalize bankruptcy papers. She wears her thick-lensed glasses, black yoga pants covered in cat fur, and an ill-fitting cami which fails to cover her white, fat stomach)

***Overture (T-Bone sings)***

"Someday I'll be free
of hateful papers haunting me;
Happy days are soon to come
If these revisions soon are done!"

(Stage right door flings open and Attorney T-Bone, played by Kristin Chenowith, rushes in with large stack of papers in arms. She sings)

"T-Bone, you shall not be free

Until the revisions are done-- you see?
Once again you gave me a list

That fails to give me the full gist!"

(Client T-Bone slumps in chair. Lights another cig. Faces Attorney T-Bone and sings)

"Ah yes I forgot that house I cleaned
and the transcript that I typed
Income I felt did not deem
a mention on my taxes-- Oh cripes!
What shall I do? What shall I do?

I'm tired of schedules and disclosures

Of exemptions and drafts and laws and rules

When will this crap be over?"

(Cherubs float down from the ceiling as Attorney T-Bone sings)

"T-Bone, do not fear

Your work is almost finished here.

Just one more draft for these tired eyes

and from your desk you may rise."

(Attorney T-Bone and Client T-Bone link arms, smile at one another, and are lifted above the stage slowly, while music swells)

... and... scene.

My computer took another crap.

I won't be posting for awhile. Thanks for checking back and continue to do so, please!

Meanwhile, here's a picture of my new husband Damian Lewis.

*big sigh*




If you haven't seen "Band of Brothers", drive yourself to Blockbuster and rent it. Damian, of course, is fabulous in it as Major Richard Winters, but it's also memorable for other reasons-- the cast, the writing, the acting, the story itself.

Happy Fourth of July.